He went his way,--I set out on mine, paying no attention to the
sullenness of Saveliitch. I soon forgot the hurricane and the
guide, as well as the touloup of hare-skin.

Arrived at Orenbourg, I presented myself at once to the General. He
was a tall man, bent by age, with long hair quite white. An old, worn-
out uniform, recalled the soldier of the times of the Empress Anne,
and his speech betrayed a strong German accent.

I gave him my father's letter.

Reading my name, he glanced at me quickly. "Mein Gott," said he,
"it is so short a time since Andrew Grineff was your age, and now,
see what a fine fellow of a son he has. Ah! time! time!" He opened
the letter and began to run it over with a commentary of remarks.

"'Sir, I hope your Excellency,'--What is this; what is the meaning
of this ceremony? discipline, of course before all, but is this the
way to write to an old friend? Hum--'Field-marshal Munich--little
Caroline--brother.' Ah! then he remembers--'Now to business. I
send you my son; hold him with porcupine gloves.'

"What does that mean?" said he, "that must be a Russian proverb."

"It means," said I, with an air of innocence, "to treat a person
mildly, to give one liberty."

"Hum!" said he, reading, "'and give him no liberty.' No," he
continued, "your proverb does not mean liberty. Well, my son,"